Ever Since The Day We Died
by myreligionsyou
Summary: Desole is a troubled teen rock icon touring My Chemical Romance. She explores love, drugs and comes to terms with her bleak past. But has she bitten off more than she can chew? M for sexual/drug content/langue
1. Chapter 1: The Moment

DESOLE

"Desolé, what in the world do you think you're doing?" My mother snapped in her obnoxious French accent, chasing me as I stormed off to my bedroom. I ignored her with my back still turned and snagged a suit case from underneath my bed.

"Desolé, answer me this instant!" she shouted as I turned toward my dresser. I slumped my shoulders in frustration and tuned around to face her. She looked like a falcon with silver hair tied up in a tight bun and long beak-like nose. Every day I looked at her and every day I noticed a new wrinkle or a new flaw on her face. It was as if time was slipping away from fast and faster.

"I'm leaving, ma! What does it look like?" I yelled in her face. She looked taken aback and I took the opportunity to raid my drawers and pack my essentials.

I was sick of living here again. When I was fifteen I ran away for about a year but ended up being driven home in a cop car. It had been two years afterward and I was so infuriated I couldn't take it anymore. Just being in the same room with my mother was insufferable! She had always been a tight ass but she turned into a physco bitch after my father and younger sister died. My restlessness only got worse after I dropped out of high school. Mom cried for two hours about how I was throwing my life away.

"Oh no you don't! I am not having you run off and becoming a hooker again!" She shouted. I wanted to strangle her! Why was she always such a bitchy pain in the ass?

"I WASN'T A HOOKER, MOM! I WAS AN EXOTIC DANCER, OKAY?" I bellowed at her as I continued to throw under wear and other clothes in my suite case. She always called me a hooker just because I worked in a strip club after I ran away from home. What else was I supposed to do? I was living in an alley way living off of stolen beans and rice!

"Don't you take that tone with me!" she yelled, her neck veins popping out and her eyes bulging. She looked more like a falcon than ever when she was angry.

"Shut UP you stupid HAG!" I screamed, throwing the last of my clothes into my bag and storming toward the door. She looked appalled at me and tried to stand in front of me. I literally shoved her out of my path.

"I'll call the cops!" she threatened. I scoffed and skipped down the stairs two at a time, hearing her foot steps as she followed me.

"Go ahead! I'll long gone before they get here Beatrice." I taunted, calling her by her first name.

"Oh you insightful little shrew! I ought a teach you some manners!" She growled. I turned around to face her when I reached the front door.

"GO RIGHT AHEAD, BITCH!" I shrieked. Her eyes looked like they would pop right out her head and her face turned bright red with anger. I was about to scoff again when she slapped me right across my right cheek. I deserved it, but it just gave me all the more reason to want to escape.

"God mom! I can't stay here anymore! Its like every day you suck the oxygen out of this house more and more! I can't breathe around you! I can't stand you! I feel like I'm trapped in this damn house with all of these bad memories!" I gasped, clutching my burning hot cheek.

"Well maybe if you hadn't dropped out of high school a week before graduation, you'd get out more!" she spat at me.

"Y'know why I dropped out? TO PISS YOU OFF!" I yelled at her. She went to slap me again up I grabbed her wrist before her hand could reach me. Our eyes met for a split second before I tossed her wrist aside so hard and fast that she actually fell down.

I stared at her for a moment. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. We always fought like this. She used to throw dishes at me and slap me and even gave me a black eye one time. I'd done so much worse than just knocking her down though. I had spit on her, slapped her, and pulled her hair. She always hit first and when I hit her back she never retaliated, she only cried. And I never felt sorry for her.

"See ya." I muttered as I skulked out the door. I heard her start to cry as I slammed it shut. She yelled something about calling the police, but I wasn't worried. She was too much of a pussy to do it.

I loved my mom. And she loved me, I think. Even though I'd broken her heart so badly and so many times that she didn't even have one anymore she at least tried to love me. She tried to be a good mom but all it did was piss me off. Some people aren't meant to have kids and she was one of those people. When my dad was alive he always kept her in check but when he died she went berserk. We were so much alike that we butt heads constantly get then tension just builds and builds until we explode at each other, like what just happened. Things rarely led to physical confrontations, but when they did I made sure that she knew I was nobody's bitch.

It was really cold outside because it was December in Seattle. Snow lined the shining black streets and filled the yards of the people in our little cul-de-sac. It was drizzling outside, freezing little water droplets and I didn't have a jacket. In fact, all I had on was a faded Iron Maiden shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. The only light guiding me was coming from the street lamps, all yellow and orange and flickering. The sky looked as though somebody had painted over the stars and the moon with dark gray paint. I wandered down the middle of the road figuring that nobody would be driving because it was one in the morning. Besides, getting hit by a car would only help my situation at this point.

Here I was, out on the streets again, alone and unwanted. I strolled leisurely through the chilly streets, my breath making what looked like smoke. Speaking of which, I needed a cigarette. I rummaged through my bag a little until I found my pack and a lighter and I lit it up. The smoke dried out my throat and the nicotine calmed my still fuming mind.

I was starting to wonder where I was walking to but then realized that I was headed in the direction of my best friend Milo's house. I was slightly amused at how my feet automatically took me there without me even thinking about it. Milo had been my best friend since we were toddlers. He was always the one person I could count on, especially after my dad and sister passed away. The only time I remember really being away from him was when I ran away. I felt so guilty because apparently he cried every night hoping that I would come home.

I rounded the corner and heard faint police sirens going off. I cursed my mother under my breath and kept walking at my slow pace. I flicked my cigarette butt on the wet ground. The sirens were far off and I would be at Milo's house any second.

When I reached his house the rain had picked up and it looked as though I had gotten there just in time because the sirens were getting closer and louder. I slung my bag over my shoulder and climbed over their big privacy fence and into their back yard. His parents didn't like me much, nobody's did, and would freak shit if they caught me doing this. I trudged through their muddy, grassy yard and frowned when I realized I would have to climb up to Milo's second story bedroom with this heavy as suit case on my back.

I sighed and made my ascend up to his window using their trash can and their houses siding. When I was just in reach of his window, I stretched my arms up and wrapped on the wet glass with my knuckles. Then I waited a few seconds and sure enough Milo poked his out.

"Hey." I beamed when I saw him. He looked highly unamused, but reached out his hand to help me up all the same. He pulled me through his window and I took a moment to let the warmth of his room spread through me as if I was stepping into a hot bath.

"Sweet Jesus Des! You're soaked to the bone!" Milo hissed at me. We had to whisper otherwise his parents would come in and flip a thousand shits.

"Its raining outside!" I said defensively. Milo rolled his eyes and pulled a towel out of his closet and handed it to me.

"Hey, what's with the suit case? You're not planning on running off on me again?" he asked, sounding very concerned.

"No, we're running off together." I said, running the towel through my scraggly damp hair. Milo looked confused.

"What happened with your mom this time?" he asked. Poor Milo was all too used to me sneaking in his house in the wee hours of the morning.

"She started calling me a whore and shit! So I decided I wasn't gonna take it and I packed my bags. Then she fucking slaps me in the face!" I explained angrily. Milo examined my cheek and sighed.

"And you fought back how?" he asked. I sighed a little bit too. He didn't approve of me getting into fights with my mother.

"I kind of pushed her to the ground." I said sheepishly.

"Desolé! What is wrong with you?" Milo scolded me. I frowned a little bit and rolled my eyes.

"A lot of things. Now can we please just go?" I begged, tugging on his hand.

"What are you talking about? You mean just pack up and leave?" Milo said, looked bewildered.

"Yes! Come on! Let's just book it out of here!" I said, trying to lead him over to the window. He held me back a little bit and I was getting impatient.

"Desolé, I can't just pick up and go. I can't just abandon everything I've built up here! Life isn't some little fantasy where you can just run away and everything will be fine! You need to face your problems or they're just gonna get worse!" Milo said, sounding very much like a middle school teacher.

"Milo, you don't understand-" I started. Milo held up his hand.

"Don't you tell me that I don't understand honey. I understand you better than anybody on this fucking planet so don't you even think for a minute that you can get past me with that bullshit." Milo said flatly. I groaned: he was absolutely right.

"Milo, if I stay in that house I'm either going to murder her or she's going to murder me. And if I kill her, then the only time you'll be seeing me is visiting day on Death Row." I informed him.

"Well what did you have in mind?" He asked, his left eyebrow raised as he waited for me to explain to him my next bullshit plan.

"Remember when we were in middle school and our biggest dream was to be in a band?" I asked. Milo nodded apprehensively. "Well, since you still play bass and I learned how to sing I think we should start something!" I said excitedly. The idea had literally occurred to me less than two minutes ago. It was either become a musician or starve to death or get arrested at this point.

"You mean start a band, with just the two of us?" Milo said with a sarcastic laugh.

"No doofus! I mean get some friends who play instruments and start a band!" I encouraged. Milo thought for a moment and the shrugged. I heard the sirens getting louder and my stomach dropped.

"Shit, your mom called the cops?" Milo said, his eyes the size of dinner plates. I shrugged guiltily and he thought for a few more seconds. "Hm, I guess this could work out. Might be a shit load of fun too. Why not?" he pondered aloud. I was ecstatic.

"You mean you'll do this with me?" I asked excitedly. Milo chuckled at my reaction.

"Of course, we do everything together. I think starting a band should be one of them." he said, grabbing a duffel bag and starting to stuff it full of clothes. I helped him by raiding his closet and grabbing whatever I saw.

"Hey, what do you think we should call this band of ours?" Milo asked as we packed up the remainder of his things.

"Hm…I think we should call it 'The Moment'." I suggested. Milo furrowed his brow.

"Why that?" he asked.

"Because, this could be the moment." I explained. Milo nodded in agreement and started to make his way out of the window.

And with that, we were off into the wild blue yonder, not yet having a clue what lay in store for us…


	2. Chapter 2: Rough Starts

DESOLE

In only half a year the band had accomplished so much. We released our debut album "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest" and started touring right away. At first we toured in a mini van that Milo's mom bought us even though she hated what we were doing. We did little mini tours throughout the West Side, then started to make our way across the entire country. And by some miraculous feat, our music became insanely popular. Every show there would be more and more kids that would show up. Ever day we got news about more and more record sales. The singles were going through the roof, the videos we made to go with them spread like viruses.

I felt so unbelievably lucky that we were becoming successful. It was amazing how far we had gotten with how little we had started with. Being a band was literally a last ditch effort for me and I knew from the beginning if it didn't work out I would be screwed. But amazingly, it did work out. I felt blessed and stunned because all I really did was write songs about what I knew. I wrote about strip clubs, I wrote about cherry sodas in the summer, I wrote about the way the right lip stick could make you feel alive. My lyrics were pure, simple and basically bubble gum pop.

One song had more meaning than all the others combined. It was called "Song For A Blonde Girl" and it was about my first girlfriend and my first relationship with anybody, Leah.

I met Leah at the strip club. She was two years older than me with bleach blonde hair and dark brown roots that were always showing. She liked cheetah print lingerie, jell-o shooters, older men and whisky. She taught me how to dance, sing and perform. She showed me how to be confident and love myself. And in turn I fell fatally and deeply in love with her.

Leah was a lot like Milo, which was good because at the club I didn't have Milo. She took care of me and watched over me like a hawk, never letting anybody take advantage of me. Every night she would tuck me into my bed and stroke my hair and kiss my forehead the way my real mother never bothered to do. She was like a mother and a sex goddess wrapped up into one.

But we never had sex. There were a few times when we came close but she always insisted that there would be somebody more special than herself. She told me to hold onto my virginity with an iron fist because once it was gone I could never get it back. As badly as I wanted her, I obeyed because I loved her so much. Besides, to me virginity didn't really have to do with things going up your vag, it was a state of mind.

But one night the cops raided the club because of some sort of drug bust. They found I was a minor and shipped me back home to Seattle, where my less than enthusiastic mother awaited me. The last memory I had of Leah was seeing her getting thrown down against a cop car, her eyes wild and her hands cuffed behind her back. That was the last time I ever saw my Leah.

But a few weeks later I got a letter saying she had died of a drug overdose. If the pain of having her ripped away from me wasn't enough, this totally killed a part of me. A piece of my heart literally died that day. I cried for weeks. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. My only comfort was Milo, who helped me every step of the way. Leah left me all her money on her will along with some cheap jewelry and I note. I kept that note with me at all times and had it tucked into my bra during every show our band ever played. It read:

"Dear Dessy,

I really hope to god you get this. I just wanted you to know how much I love you, in case we never see each other again.

I remember the first day I saw you. You entered the all shaking and scared and starved half to death. You reminded me of a lost little rabbit looking for her mama. You were so innocent, so clean and pure. I wanted to scoop you right up in my arms and hold you so close that nobody could hurt you. I all too well how brutal the world is. People take bits and pieces of you and they don't stop until you're nothing left. Everybody wants a piece of somebody because nobody is happy with themselves. I wanted to take up and fight off anybody who tried to take from you.

But I couldn't do that because it wasn't realistic. You were such a young, pretty thing with your dirty blonde hair and rail thin body. I hope you can forgive me for not protecting you the way I should've. I should've shielded you more than I did and I'm sorry. I hope you can find it in your pretty little heart to forgive me for that.

I don't know if I'll ever see you're gorgeous face again, I hope I do. I hope you work things out with you're mother and I hope you and Milo stay best friends. Be good, stay out of trouble, stay out of drugs, have fun, change the world…"

"Change the world". That's exactly what I intended to do. And when the band found out we had gotten onto the Van's Warped Tour, I realized that this would be my big chance to do so. What I didn't realize was how my world would also be changed.

That first night we played on the tour was magical. It was one of the biggest gigs we'd ever done and we were all terrified. I was shaking with excitement and it was only heightened when I stepped onstage to hear thousands of screaming teenagers. The sounded as anxious as us for the show to begin.

"Are you ready to make your parents ashamed?" I shrieked into the microphone. The crowd roared and I felt a rush of adrenaline surge through me. "ARE YOU READY TO GET INFAMOUS?" I screeched, getting an even more wild response from the audience.

We sang, we danced, we moved. I whipped my blonde hair around and strutted around in my tight leather short shorts. My fish nets got ripped and I tore off my shirt during our last song, revealing my spiked leather bra. I did back bends, summersaults and tons of other moves I had learned at the club. And in the last song, I glanced over and saw some of the other bands that we were touring with watching, their jaws hanging open. I guess they figured we wouldn't be the opening act for much longer. They were right. During the last few notes of our final song, I did a perfect split just to tease the guys eye balling me from backstage.

Fred, our tour manager handed me a towel as soon as I stepped backstage. I thanked him with a smile and wrapped it around my neck. I was sweating so badly that my hair looked like it was soaked. I was out of breath and all my bones were radiating pure pain. But I loved it. God, how I loved it. I loved it and I couldn't wait to do it again tomorrow night. But at this exact moment all I really wanted to do was find a nice cold beer, have a cigarette or two and get my flirt on with some of the boys that were watching me perform.

I was strutting around backstage, smiling playfully at any guy or girl that crossed my path in search of somebody with a beer or some sort of alcoholic beverage. I spotted a door backstage that said "MCR Dressing Room". There was lots of noise, laughter and music coming from within and I figured that that was where the party was. So I invited myself inside. Instantly, I spotted the beer cooler but it was behind two guys, both scruffy and greasy looking. I realized that they had been some of the few watching from backstage so I put my game face on and sauntered over to them.

"Hello, hello." Said the dirtier of the two, lowering his sun glasses. I wondered why on earth he was wearing them, we were inside. I bit my lip a little bit and flashed him a shy grin.

"Hey." I said smoothly. "You boys got anything for a lady to drink?" I asked, giving them both the once over. The one that had said hello to me and medium length hair that was so knotted and greasy and almost wanted to gag. He was also unshaven and smelled like pot. The other one was wearing a long waist coat that matched his jet black hair, which was also unkempt. His skin was pure white and his eyes were lined with reddish shadow and it was hard for me to make out what was his real dark circles and which ones were fake. They were both pretty tall, but then again being only 5'3" most people were tall compared to me. But these guys were taller than me even though I was wearing heels.

"If you want I could give you something else to drink." Said the scruffy one. I looked at him as if to say "as if". The other one, the shy one, nudged him.

"Can it Bert." He grumbled. Bert McCracken? Of The Used? Oh dear lord! I felt my face get hot but tried my hardest not to let it show that I was embarrassed.

"Whatever man, catch ya later." Bert said to his friend, patting him of the back before meandering past us.

"Sorry 'bout Bert. He can be a bit of a prick sometimes." Said the shy one. I smiled graciously and batted my eye lashes.

"Its fine. I'm Desolé by the way." I introduced myself.

"I'm Gerard. You were really great tonight." he said. As in Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance? That's probably what the MCR stood for on the dressing room door! My heart rate quickened but I refused to let it show. The minute when Gerard opened his mouth I could smell the vodka and almost gagged. Vodka and cigarettes, lots of cigarettes.

"Oh, well thank you. Nice to meet you Gerard. I saw you guys watching me from the side stage. So, could you hand me a beer?" I asked, smiling a little flirtier. If I was going to be on tour with this guy for months on end I might as well have some fun with it!

"How old are you? You look like your fifteen." Gerard said, sounding suspicious. I got a little heated. I hated being treated like a child.

"I'm eighteen for your information. But everybody tells me I'm wise beyond my years." I said slyly. Gerard scoffed and I was instantly put off.

"Well, your not twenty one so technically its illegal for me to hand you a beer." He said. I rolled my eyes. I could tell that no matter how hard I flirted he was going to treat me like I was twelve and that we would not be getting along.

"Are you for real?" I asked, letting my frustration show through my voice and facial expression. Gerard shrugged and I rolled my eyes again. I practically had to stand on tip toe when I stood up and plucked the beer from his hand and downed it in one big swig. It was refreshing and cold but not nearly as refreshing as the shocked look on Gerard's face as I handed him the empty bottle.

"Watch yourself short stack, I'm afraid you might get tipsy from such a big drink." Gerard warned. I was infuriated by the statement.

"Short stack? Really? Shut up Gerard, I wear heels bigger than your dick!" I snapped at him. He only chuckled lightly and tossed the empty beer bottle in the trash can near by.

"Woah there, somebody should wash your mouth out with soap!" Gerard laughed at me. I saw that no amount of comebacks would get him to shut up so I decided that I would have to at least get the last word in.

"I guess I was just born to be bad." I said calmly, swiftly stealing the cigarette from his mouth before popping it into mine. I shot him a wink and then turned on my heel and left.


	3. Chapter 3: Love At First Fight

GERARD

It was mid afternoon and I was just sitting around, smoking and waiting for the first band to finish their set list when Bert called me over to the side stage. His facial expression was telling me that it was something important, so I put out my cigarette butt on the ground and walked over to him. I was about to ask him what he wanted to tell me but then he just pointed out onstage and that's when I saw her for the very first time.

She was clad in leather shorts and matching studded bra. Her hair was long, flowing and a beautiful silvery blonde color. Her mouth and eyes were lined in bold black charcoal lipstick and eye liner and she had stark white skin. The way she screeched was enchanting but not as enchanting as the way she had total and complete control over the crowd. They did anything that she commanded them to. She was like a drill sergeant. A beautiful, slender drill sergeant. I found myself in a little bit of a haze, wondering what her eyes looked like up close. I bet they were a beautiful silver blue, or maybe gray. But just as I was thinking about her eyes I was bombarded by the way her rail thin body moved as she danced around onstage, fearless and furious.

Bert and I watched along with Frank and Mikey who had also wandered over to see the spectacular show that she was putting on for everybody. She was like a wild animal up there. She saw that we were staring half way through the set but we didn't even care, we were too transfixed by her, me especially. The way she danced was like having a spell cast over you, the longer it went on the deeper and deeper you were entranced in it. My heart swelled up until I thought it would pop. What was this feeling? Infatuation? Attraction? What was it and why haven't I ever felt this way before?

Toward the end of the bands set she dropped down into a perfect split, looking at us all the while. It sent a chill through me. Then she cast us a wink that knocked the air right out of my chest. At that point I could feel myself loosing control so I turned and practically ran to the bathroom backstage where I noticed that I had gotten the biggest, most noticeable hard on I'd ever had. I knew I wanted to meet her in person, to talk to her and find out what color her eyes were. So I thought of spiders and needles and lit another cigarette to calm myself down.

Once I regained control of myself I walked out of the bathroom as casually as I could and went back to our bands dressing room. Bert was already inside, beer in hand and waiting for me. He asked where I had been and told him that I had to go to the bathroom. I took a long, calming drag off of my cigarette and hoped that she would make an appearance. I wanted to see her up close, I wanted to learn her name at least. We stood by the beer cooler, drinking, talking and laughing until she came him.

My eyes fell upon her again and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. She had a towel around her neck and her hair was damp. She was still in her stage clothes and her make up was smudged and runny. Her smile was spread from ear to ear. She waltzed right up to me and Bert and flashed up both a big grin. She was beaming. I saw how short she was. We were both towering over her and she was bare foot. It was weird, she seemed so much taller onstage. Maybe it was just her personality.

"Hello, hello." Bert said smoothly, lowering his sun glasses to get a better look. I wished suddenly that he hadn't worn them inside because she probably assumed he was blind now or something.

"Hey. You boys got anything for a lady to drink?" she asked playfully, looking us both over. I felt myself start to sweat when her eyes fell on me. They were a sharp shade of blue gray, like cigarette smoke in a car at night.

"If you want I could give you something else to drink." Bert said slyly. She scoffed under her breath and gave him a look that said "in your dreams". Bert had always been better with the girls, so I figured out now that I was probably screwed on this one.

"Can it Bert." I mumbled, nudging him in the side with my elbow. I really, really didn't want her thinking that we were both sexual deviants despite the fact that she herself looked like a dominatrix.

"Whatever man, I'll catch ya later." he said, giving me a pat on the back before trudging off to find somebody else to hit on. All I could think was "oh god please no" as I watched him walk away. What should I say? What should I do? Why was this always so hard for me?

"Sorry 'bout Bert, he can be a bit of a prick sometimes." was the first thing I thought to say. She smiled so warmly it made the room hotter and batted her mile-long eye lashes at me in return.

"Its fine." she brushed it off and I sighed inwardly with relief. "I'm Desolé by the way." Desolé…the way it rolled out of her mouth was intoxicating.

"I'm Gerard." I said, trying my best not to mumble or look at my feet. But it was hard not to because looking into her eyes was like looking into the fucking sun. "You were really great tonight." I said honestly. Her pale cheeks flushed and she let out a tiny girlish giggle.

"Oh, well thank you. Nice to meet you Gerard. I saw you guys watching me from the side stage." She smirked. My stomach dropped, but I wasn't really sure why. Just being around her put me on edge. "So, could you hand me a beer?" she flirted.

"How old are you?" I asked, realizing how young she looked. She couldn't be anywhere near twenty yet. "You look like your fifteen?" she looked a little disgruntled. She probably didn't like being asked about her age. Maybe it was just her height.

"I'm eighteen for your information." she said hotly. "But everybody tells me I'm wise beyond my years." She added slyly. I scoffed jokingly and watched her furrow her eyebrows. I could already tell that messing with her would be fun.

"Well, you're not twenty one so technically its illegal for me to hand you a beer." I said with an honest shrug. She looked genuinely frustrated as she rolled those pretty blue eyes and I couldn't hold back a small laugh.

"Are you for real?" she asked haughtily. I shrugged again and she rolled her eyes again, only making me chuckle even more. Suddenly, she stood up on her toes and snatched the beer right out of my hand before throwing her head back and downing it in one big gulp. I was pleasantly surprised.

"Watch yourself short stack, you might get tipsy from such a big drink." I teased. She looked infuriated by my statement.

"Short stack? Really?" she said, her voice raised a little bit. I let out a laugh. "Can it Gerard, I wear heels bigger than your dick." She snapped at me. I kept laughing and tossed my now empty beer into the trash can at my side.

"Woah there, somebody should wash your mouth out with soap." I said, making a mock-surprised face. She glared at me for a second, thinking. Then she stood on tip toe once more, only this time she took my cigarette right out of my mouth and popped it into hers.

"I guess I was just born to be bad." she said with a calm shrug before turning on her heel and strutting out of the dressing room. I watched her go, smiling to myself as I thought about how interesting this tour was going to be.

"Hey, there." said a random voice from my left side. I jumped a little bit and say it was Desolé's bassist standing next to me.

"Oh, hey." I said cautiously. He smiled and extended his hand for me to shake, which I did.

"I'm Milo, Desolé's best friend." he introduced himself.

"I'm Gerard." I said back.

"She sure is something, aint' she?" Milo asked as we watched Desolé out in the hall way, talking to one of the security guards.

"Something is right. I'm not sure what though." I said, more to myself than anybody. "So what brings you here?" I asked after a little pause.

"I just came to give you a fair warning." Milo said honestly. I glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

"About what?" I asked suspiciously. Milo sighed heavily.

"About Desolé." he said,.

"What about her?" I asked. He sighed again, shaking his head.

"Desolé is…troubled and very…complicated for lack of a better word." Milo explained. I furrowed my brows and fished a new smoke out of my pocket. "She's a total wild child, completely out of control and out of her mind. Just want you to be careful." he continued.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked him.

"You like her, I can tell." he said simply. I was about to deny when he started talking again. "No, no, no, don't lie. I see the way you were looking at her onstage and just now." he said in a mater-of-fact type of tone. Was it really that obvious?

"Well what do you mean out of control?" I asked, deciding to skip this part of the conversation.

"Well, you see, Desolé has a lot of mommy and daddy issues. She's got a temper to match a Tasmanian Devil's and a mouth that would make a sailor blush. And the thing is, she might not even like men." Milo admitted.

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"She's never dated a guy before. She had one girlfriend who um, passed away and she hasn't dated anybody sense." Milo told me. "Don't tell her that I'm saying this to you. Just watch out though, she's a man eater. She's chews up guys and spits 'em out. And she just loves eating nice guys like you for breakfast." Milo warned. I nodded.

"I figured as much." I said.

"She likes a guys who are willing to put up her with bullshit, so she's try to push your buttons on purpose just to see if you'll pass her little tests. She wants somebody empathetic, somebody who understands. She wants attention and demands a lot of it." Milo said. I felt like he was prepping me for some sort of sports game or something.

"But just remember, what Desolé really needs is somebody who's willing to take care of her. Lord knows she can't do it herself."


End file.
